Painting the Past
by hellokhaleesi
Summary: Klaus returns to New York for an art event, but finds something much more appealing to his eyes. After so many years, him and Caroline have a lot of catching up to do. Read in a series of flashbacks the events that brought the two back together after seven years apart.


_**AN: I was intending on this being a one shot, but I fell in love with the idea so it's just going to be a little story. Just a wee short one, but a story none the less.**_

The Silver Sparrow Hotel resided in Central New York, it's ageing brickwork and large, wooden arched windows contrasting so heavily with the glitzy, shiny, modern buildings that surrounded it.

This was why it was one of Klaus's favourites. Despite it's age, it was a little known gem. It maintained the features of it's past with stubborn tenacity as the city grew above and around it. The outer walls were red brick, the front door a towering display of stonework with it's intricately designed archway, ivy adoring it's every inch. Regardless of the ferocious repainting, the wood of the windows remained cracked and aged. Some might of thought it ugly, but Klaus thought it gave the building an endearing quality, as if it had grown wise over the years.

But this time, a different thing drew him to it. An art exhibit, held by a mysterious collector was being displayed here. He had been delighted when he was contacted, and asked if he was willing to donate a piece. Painting had been a welcome distraction; it had been years since he had left New Orleans now, unwilling to put it in the hands of anyone else since Marcel had so royally destroyed it last time. But Marcel was gone, the witches were returned and Hayley and the baby were of no use to him. Elijah constantly asked if he wished for an update on his child – he didn't now the gender – but since his adversary had been disposed of, he had no need for them. Someone who cannot die does not need an heir.

Either way, he had grown bored. The supernatural world was oddly quiet. There was no up and coming Armageddon approaching, no disgruntled witches, no out of control vampires and even Rebekah had disappeared again, off on some road trip with a busboy. He didn't approve, but it kept her out his hair, and her happy.

He'd been more than happy to return to New York, even more so to his favourite hotel to showcase a painting. He was also curious as to who the charming collector had been, and more importantly, how they knew of his work.

Smoothing down his tie, brushing the non-existent dust from his suit jacket, Klaus stepped in. The interior of the hotel hadn't changed much over the years; the reception was taken up mostly by a dark wood desk, behind which a pretty brunette smiled. The walls were tall and cream, adorned with a few select pieces of art. The heels of his shoes clacked off the hard wood floor as he made his way to the function room.

It turned out he was fashionably late; the room was already packed with people, the air filled with the sound of polite chatter and the smell of champagne and aftershave.

The walls were bare red brick, the floor a simple pale wood. It was nice. It was like the room itself was a blank canvas. He nodded to a passing man, who smiled in return, and made his way to the first art piece.

It was a long, horizontal canvas, painted with blurred vertical stripes in earthy colours; shades of brown and grey and green and blue all merged together. The object of the painting was an elegant white arm that stretched across the length, the crispness of the shade contrasting strongly with the smeared mix of the background. Long, thin fingers caressed at the shade of green that reminded him of the fading of leaves as Autumn dawned. Klaus glanced at the small, white label beneath it.

_**'Touch'**_

_**By Alexanda Lo'quevia**_

He would have to find Mr Lo'quevia and congratulate him on his work. It was a simple idea, but pulled of quite wonderfully.

He wandered over to a sculpture that several people had gathered around. They were discussing it in some detail; it was a beautiful sculpture of a naked woman, her hair dancing around her shoulders, modestly covering her breasts. The face was done in such a way that was not seen in many sculptures, with the eyes carved in meticulous detail. They were not, as sometimes the case is, eerie. Quite the opposite, they were inviting, even warm. However, what was slightly ominous was the text that covered her entire body; the words Romans 12:9 repeated in an endless spiral around her legs, across her torso and behind her back, crawling up her neck and fading as they reached her smiling face.

"'Let love be genuine..." he quoted quietly to the air.

"'...Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good.'" Someone finished the quote beside him. He turned the face the source of the voice, and his eyes widened in shock. "Good evening, Mr Mikaelson."

He blanched, taken utterly by surprise. "Good evening, Miss Forbes."

Caroline smiled at him knowingly, before turning her attention back to the sculpture before them. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is." he noted quietly. "Simple, yet powerful."

"I particularly like how the passage is not mentioned. It's like it is a secret between the artist and anyone who knows." she smiled. "I would ask you what brings you to New York, Mr Mikaelson, but I believe the answer is quite clear."

He took a moment to take in her appearance. He was secretly quite glad that she was continuing to look at the art, because he was sure his jaw was several inches closer to the floor. Her hair was curled lightly – it had grown since they last saw each other – and the ends fell just past her chest. She wore a white flapper dress, the many threads hanging off it dancing with her every movement. It stopped mid-thigh, showing off her long, toned legs. She had chosen quite a scary pair of gold heels, adorned with small golden spikes, that gave her more than a few inches and brought her almost up to his height. She had a soft gold shawl hanging gently off her arms, across her back. The overall effect was quite stunning; she looked like an angel.

"I was commissioned to do a painting for this exhibit." he said softly.

"I know."

His heart stopped for a second, filling with something that closely resembled anxiety. _Get a grip_, he firmly told himself. He was surely not actually this concerned about her opinion on his art?

"Have you seen it?"

"Do you know who commissioned it?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"No," he said slowly. "they are anonymous."

She remained silent, observing the sculpture with a keen eye. He did not fail to notice how carefully her eye scanned every detail, traced the curves of the stone woman and took in every aspect. It reminded him of how he had looked at Caroline herself in the past, his eyes learning her every curve and hair and inch of alabaster skin lie she was a well composed song.

"What are you doing here, Caroline?" he asked curiously.

Smiling knowingly, she told him how she was studying Art at college, and had pulled some strings to get herself here. He felt the swell in his chest when she mentioned what she was studying; he would have have to quiz her later.

"What inspired that?" he smirked, walking a little closer to her, causing her turn her head slightly to the side with a sly smile on her face.

"I knew this guy." she eyed with a look of mild humour on her face. "He was a horrible person, but he was an artist, first and foremost. I was fascinated, that after a long day of sacrificing my friends that he could sit down and still create this _beautiful_ paintings. It made me a realise art is not bias, it does not judge. It is simply beautiful. In all forms."

"I saw that side of him, the artist. He wasn't cruel or violent or harsh... he was passionate and maybe even fun." she scoffed. "After such an encounter with such a man, how could I resist such an opportunity?"

Klaus held his hands in front of his mouth to try and lessen the smirk forming on his face. "What happened to this guy?"

"He left." she said simply.

"And?" he pressed.

"And I never forgot him." she sighed, turning away from him. "Even from all those miles away he ruined my entire life. My boyfriend left me, my mother all but disowned me, my friends never took a moment to understand me. Or him." she added bitterly.

His heart quickened in his chest, all his muscles suddenly tight and unmoving. She had never forgotten him? The way she spoke to harshly about the people from her past life made him wonder if she might have even chosen him over them. It would certainly explain her presence in New York, miles away from Virginia. All these years, he suspected Caroline had simply lived her small town life in discontentment as he predicted she would, with Tyler, eventually forgetting he existed.

"Is it easier to talk about me in the third person?" he grinned.

She laughed. "I don't know what you're talking about, I was talking about Damon."

"Damon Salvatore wouldn't know art if it tore his throat out." he said lightly.

She regarded him with some curiosity, her eyes flickering dangerously close to fear as she did. It had, after all, been a long time since she had seen that particular side of him. He may have meant it as a joke, but he knew that she knew that he would tear Damon Salvatore's throat out without a second thought. They parted ways on spectacularly more joyous terms. _Thank the Gods_, he thought with a smile.

"You really haven't changed, have you?" she asked quietly.

Clearing his throat, he responded; "You have though, love. You've changed a lot."

She smiled. "You were a good influence. Or a bad one, depending on you're point of view." she smirked at his grin. "I got stronger, I didn't let anyone walk over me from the day you left, not once. It's why I moved to New York. I appreciate your offer to take me to see the world, but I think you know me well enough to know I was fully capable of seeing it all by myself."

"I never doubted that you were, love." he nodded his head in appreciation. "I just thought you might like a guide."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a flouncing Italian man greeting Caroline with some fervour. His black was cut short, his skin tanned and his brown eyes hidden behind thick rimmed black glasses. Tight black jeans were tucked into startling red ankle boots with pointed toes and he wore a red silk waistcoat over a crisp white shirt. He looked every part the stereotypical artist.

"Caroline Forbes, the woman of the hour." he declared, his accent thick, almost like a purr. "Far too many weeks have passed since I saw those pretty blue eyes." They kissed both cheeks, before she turned him towards Klaus who was looking rather bemused at the newcomer.

"Alexanda, this is Niklaus Mikaelson. He's an artist being represented here too." she introduced him with a smile, causing Alexanda to raise an eyebrow.

"Alexanda Lo'quevia, it is a pleasure." he said in husky tones. His voice made Klaus a little hesitant to take the man's hand, and Caroline hid her giggle behind a well placed cough.

"Lo'quevia?" he said, remembering the painting he saw when he first came in. "I saw your work, it is wonderful, congratulations. What was your inspiration?"

He laughed lightly. "The story behind _Touch_ is the lack of story. Messing about with paints after one too many apple Martinis, honey. It's amazing what comes about by accident, isn't it?"

"It is indeed." he mused, still eyeing Caroline, pondering the circumstances of their meeting,.

"But, I was delighted when I heard Caroline was putting together this little gem... she's more than a pretty face, I'll tell you know, honey." he said, gently tapping the end of her nose, causing her to smile widely. "She's got a real eye for all things gorgeous, that is plain to see." Alexanda's eyes moved over Klaus in a way that had Caroline choking on her drink, rolling her eyes at his obvious discomfort.

"Any way, I must be off. There is mingling to do and champagne to drink!" he laughed, before disappearing off into the crowd with a flourish.

"He's a character, isn't he?" she giggled.

"What did he mean about you putting this together?"

"I didn't have your number."

He started at her incredulously. "You put together an art exhibit to talk to me?"

"I didn't know how to get a hold of you, so I sent some friends of mine in search of a British artist by your name, and gave you the proposition you know you were given. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist a New York art event." she smirked, noticing his disbelieving face. "It wasn't a total lie. I did study art, but I left after the first year knowing there was someone much more qualified to teach me. And I really was practically driven out of Mystic Falls because of you."

She smiled before walking away from him. Following her through the muttering crowds, they came to a stop at a painting that was all too familiar. A faceless woman bent and twisted her boy into an inhuman shape, lines and waves wrapping around her limbs, seemingly pulling her into discomfort.

A few people gathered around them to look at his painting, but he only looked at her. He suddenly had an overwhelming desire to get out of the hotel and drag her somewhere where they could be alone.

"I have spent the last seven years thinking about you." Her voice was so quiet, only he could hear it. No one would have even known she was talking had it not been for her lips moving, lips he so craved to kiss. "Every day, a new conclusion. That you had forgotten about me. That you no longer wanted me. That you were searching for me. That you were dead. I never knew what was true, but I never stopped thinking about you."

His eyes bored into the side of her head as she stubbornly refused to look at him. Similar thoughts had ran through his mind every day since he had left Mystic Falls with a promise, a kiss and heavy heart. He often wondered if she had stayed with Tyler Lockwood, the insufferable traitor he had sired, or if she had moved on to bigger and better things. If she had outgrown her blood-bag diet, what she was studying at school, where she was living, how she was doing... had she seen all the things those eyes deserved to see?

"Why didn't you find me sooner?" he whispered, just as quiet.

"I didn't know if wanted me to." she admitted. "You never sought me out, I assumed you didn't want me to."

He gave a short, bark of a laugh. How very typical. He had stopped himself from finding her for exactly the same reasons.

"What a pair we make." he smiled. "Dare I as how I ruined your supposedly ever lasting relationship with Mr Lockwood then, love?"

She shook her head, causing her cascading blonde curls to shake over her. It was like a curtain of liquid gold shimmering around her angelic face; he was momentarily mesmerised by the sight. Her voice brought him back from his trance.

"If we're going to get into that, I'm going to need something stronger than champagne."

~.~.~.~

Caroline's apartment was everything he had ever imagined it would be, and more. The walls of her living room were painted in the palest of blues, the floors a pale wood. It was small, but not compact. Photographs of her and her friends and mother littered the walls; it seems turning their backs on Caroline still had not persuaded her she was better without them.

All there was in the small room – and by any means, all that would fit – was a large, chocolate coloured sofa and a matching arm chair, a small TV and a bookshelf that was literally overflowing with books of every genre. Klaus ran his fingers across the spine of some of them; many were gushy romance novels that he knew his sister sobbed over endlessly. There was a selection of reference books on modern art, and a couple of cook books. It seemed she really had formed a life here for herself.

"I seem to remember you drinking an unhealthy amount of bourbon when I last knew you." she said, landing two tumblers on the kitchen counter, next to a mostly full bottle of amber liquid. The kitchen was open plan, separated from the living room only by a half-wall.

"I wouldn't say 'unhealthy', although your apparent muse, Damon, probably fell under that category." he smirked, remembering her earlier joke. "Speaking of drinking habits, love, are you still under that adorable diet of blood bags and rabbits?"

"Rabbits are hard to find in New York." she said bluntly. "And for the record, yes I am."

"Why don't you just compel people?"

She rolled her eyes, taking a large gulp of her drink. "It's going to be that sort of night, is it? A show and tell of all the dirty moments of my past?"

"I wouldn't mind a show and tell of the dirty moments of your present." he winked at her, causing her scowl at him. She hadn't changed that much then. "But yes. I'll show you mine if you show me yours." he raised his glass to her, pulling one of the smiles he so loved.

She eyed for a moment. "You know, some people say it would be stupid me drinking with you."

"Some people, love," he grinned. "think the British royal family are reptilian aliens here to invade the planet. I don't think you should listen to 'some people'."

Grabbing the bottle off the side with a sigh, she lead him through back to the living room and plopped down on the sofa. Kicking her shoes off, she indicated for him to sit next to her.

"I suppose I should start with Tyler." she grumbled, but he didn't fail to spot the small smile that crept on her face as he took his seat next to her, eyes watching intently. Turning to face him, she began her story.


End file.
